The Price We Pay
by SpeCt3r1995
Summary: An AU in which Arthur Morgan survives the events of RDR2, but at a cost. The story of a thief and outlaw in a changing world.
1. The Trade

**"Wait a minute. This isn't Avatar." Yes, well spotted, hypothetical observant reader. Had to take a bit of a break from writing because of extenuating personal circumstances, but I should be getting a little bit of free time coming up in just a bit to work on this and Harmonic Convergence. This is just... well... the result of RDR2 consuming what little free time I _have_ had.**

 **I absolutely love Arthur as a character. I love his personality, his arc, and his whole dynamic within the gang. The original title for this was going to be "Guardian Angel", or something to the effect, just because of that. But I felt like letting people know what they were in for right up front.**

 **So like it says on the tin, this is an AU where Arthur survives. There'll be a few chapters scattered throughout the timeline of the events of the second game, featuring some familiar dialogue mixed with some of my own, followed by the AU portion taking place after the game. For those of you reading my stuff for the first time, welcome! Hope you enjoy. For those of you who have me on your Author alert list and are coming from my other story, take heart! HC has not been abandoned. I'm reorganizing, editing, and working on new content right now. Well not right, right now. But you know what I mean.**

 **Enjoy the story!**

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Chapter 1

 _It's been a few weeks since we arrived here at Hosea's 'safe haven', Horseshoe Overlook. There's a bit of a chill in the mornings, but it's a damn sight more tolerable than what we had to deal with up in them mountains. The Grizzlies got a way of freezing a man right down to the bone… Can't say I'm gonna miss 'em._

 _'Course, we're gonna have to cross them again if Dutch's plans go through, and we really do wind up heading west after our next big score. Much as I ain't looking forward to having to use that damn winter coat again, the sooner we get that crossing over and done with, the better._

 _Lawmen. Pinkertons. Hell, even them O'Driscolls are making a reappearance. We're making enemies faster than we can stock up the ammo to put 'em all down. Not that Dutch seems very worried about that. He claims to have put that whole business with Colm behind him, but I've seen the look he gets in his eye when he thinks about that man. No, that feud will die with one of those two, and not a day sooner. I just gotta do everything in my power to make sure it's Colm doing the dying._

 _That seems a long ways off right now, though. Right now we just gotta focus on staying alive, and staying together._

 _We've been doing an alright job of keeping our noses clean so far, Reverend Swanson and Micah excluded, of course. I had to pull both of them out of some damn foolish situations they managed to get themselves into. Nearly got hit by a train and shot to death by an angry town for my troubles, but they're both back. No lasting damage._

 _Dutch seems glad to have them both back, but- truth be told- I still think we would've been better off leaving Micah to dangle off a noose. I suppose Dutch has his reasons for keeping that mad dog around, but I cannot for the life of me imagine what they might be._

 _Today I'm setting out to gather yet another wayward soul from our dysfunctional little family. Trelawny stopped in late last night to inform us that young Sean is not only still alive, but passing through our neck of the woods in the custody of some bounty hunters. I have no doubt that the whole thing will wind up turning into some variety of shit show or another, but I trust Javier and Charles to have my back when it does._

Arthur tucked the journal back into his satchel, standing and stretching with a yawn.

His muscles felt sore from all the activity of the past few days, but there was little to be done for it now. Maybe after he helped return Sean, he could enjoy a well deserved break.

No insane rescues, no train robberies, and no loan sharking. Hell, maybe he'd go fishing.

"Ahh, Herr Morgan."

Arthur withheld a grimace at the sound of the aristocratic European accent he knew all too well. No rest for the wicked, apparently.

"Herr Strauss." Arthur replied, voice cracked and raspy from sleep. "And here I was, in danger of having a pleasant morning."

"Very funny, Mister Morgan." Strauss deadpanned. The older Austrian man pushed his wiry glasses further up his large nose. The frown tugging at his wide, low-set mouth coupled with his beady little eyes reminded Arthur of the largemouth bass that lived in the lakes and rivers around this area.

The mental image left a grin on Arthur's face. "I usually think so, anyway. What can I do for you, Leopold? I'm assuming you didn't just stop by for a social visit."

"I was wondering if I could trouble you to make a quick stop for me, before going to get Herr McGuire." Strauss replied, straight to business as usual.

"What do you need, groceries? Parcel from the mail station? A new dress to go with those dandy shoes you bought the other day?"

"No." Strauss said, looking unamused. "Another debtor. A Mister…" Leopold glanced down at his ledger. "Downs. He lives on a farmstead-"

"Let me stop you right there, Strauss. Much as I enjoy helping you drain the blood from your victims, the rescue takes priority. It's a full day's ride already. _Without_ any side trips."

"I assure you, Herr Morgan, this won't take more than a few minutes at most."

"It can wait till we get back. Or, if it's really that important, why don't you just enlist one of these other degenerates to help you on your 'noble crusade'?" Arthur asked, gesturing out toward the rest of the camp. "Lord knows some of them need help with finding- what was it you called it? 'Legal Work'?"

Strauss sighed heavily. "Fine. Who would you suggest take your place then, Herr Morgan?"

"Well shit- I'd suggest Uncle, if I thought he could manage intimidating a rabbit." He placed a cigarette in his mouth and struck a match as he raked his eyes across the camp. "Lenny's too soft." He commented.

He held the flame to the end of the cigarette, drawing a few puffs of tobacco from it before releasing the smoke in a slow, thoughtful stream. "Bill would probably find some way to screw it up. Micah could probably do it, but then he'd probably just kill the bastard."

As he smoked, the answer to his dilemma walked right past him, carrying firewood into the camp.

"Marston!" Arthur called. "Come over here for a second."

John stopped in his tracks, looking over warily. "What do you need?" He asked.

"We'll explain just as soon as you join us over here." Arthur assured him. He took a few more lazy draws from his cigarette while Marston went about setting the firewood down. The man was still a little slow sometimes, but certainly quicker on the uptake than the likes of Williamson. He'd suit Strauss' needs just fine.

John walked over, clapping the sawdust off of his fingers. "Alright. How can I help you two fine gentlemen?"

"'Gentlemen' is already enough of a stretch, Marston. Don't go adding words like 'fine' on there too." Arthur said, his words laced with his usual humor. "And as for how you can help, I'll let our good associate Herr Strauss fill you in."

"Ever so kind." Strauss replied. The older man's dry, severe tone was accompanied by the slightest of eye-rolls. "Quite frankly, I need a blunt instrument to collect a debt. A Mister Downs borrowed money from me, and the sum has come up past due."

John turned to Arthur. "Ain't that usually your purview?"

"Herr Morgan will be tied up continuing his… unenviable task of keeping this gang from falling apart. He will be accompanied by the two other candidates I normally approach for this sort of work, so his nomination falls to you." Strauss explained.

"Thanks, I guess." John replied. He didn't sound overly enthusiastic.

"Aw, don't worry, Marston." Arthur said in a patronizing tone. "I'm sure you'll do just fine. After all, look at you. Got that new scar makin' you look all intimidating." He gestured at John's face, which still carried the signs of his run-in with the wolves on the mountain.

John still didn't look convinced.

Arthur frowned, turning to Strauss. "Hey, why don't you go skulk somewhere else?"

"Why? This is my work-" Strauss cut himself off at the threatening look Arthur sent his way. "I mean- of course, Herr Morgan." He looked at John, tipping his hat in a hurried farewell. "Good day, Mister Marston."

Arthur watched him slink off, distaste curling the edge of his lip downward. Had it been Leopold in Sean's current predicament, Arthur doubted he would've been in nearly as much of a hurry to pull the Austrian man from the fire.

Then again, Dutch had somehow managed to convince him to save Micah, so perhaps anything was possible.

Arthur shook his head, returning his focus to John. The younger man had pensive expression on his gruff face, his lip curled distastefully as Arthur's had been only moments earlier.

Arthur had noticed John doing that fairly often recently. Not just the scowl, but rather various little things that Arthur knew he himself did fairly often. The only thing he wasn't sure of was whether it was unintentional, or if Marston was deliberately trying to act more like the 'golden boy' of the group so he'd be accepted more easily.

Arthur wasn't a very subtle person, so it was a well known fact that he didn't much care for Marston's abandonment of the gang. Especially not with Abigail and the boy here.

"What are you thinkin', Marston?" Arthur asked when John kept his silence. "I can practically see the smoke coming from your ears."

"I'm thinkin'," John began. "That I don't want nothin' to do with that man or his usury business." He turned to Arthur, his expression resolute. "And I'm thinkin' that you should find someone else to collect his blood money."

Arthur was momentarily nonplussed at the reaction. On one hand, he was impressed by the audacity Marston was displaying. On the other, he was pretty pissed by the reply.

"So… what?" Arthur asked, anger starting to creep into his voice. "Suddenly robbin' folks is beneath you? You seemed just fine with it before you got them scratches up in the Grizzlies. But all you've done since then is lick your damn wounds and stand a watch or two."

"I've never been 'fine with it', Arthur." John shot back, meeting the older man's anger with his own. "I've always had to tell myself that the folks we've been robbin' have had it coming. They're all either thieves, folks who have more than they need, complete bastards, or some combination of the three. These people though- the ones he sends you for… They're just trying to get by."

"So are we!" Arthur shouted. He shot a quick glance around the camp, dropping his voice to nearly a whisper when he remembered that it was still early in the morning. "So are we. The only way we know how. Now sometimes it don't look too pretty and it definitely don't feel too rewarding. But we ain't doin' it so we can feel warm and fuzzy inside, Marston.

"We're doin' it so we can keep them," Arthur continued, vaguely nodding toward the other tents. "Fed and healthy. Miss Tilly. Miss O'Shea." John's gaze began falling towards the ground as he sank into his own thoughts. Arthur gave him no reprieve, dipping his own head to maintain eye contact with the other man.

"Abigail. Jack."

"Alright, enough." John said. "You've made your point."

"So can I count on you, Marston?"

"Yeah, I'll do the damn job." John said, fishing a cigarette out of a shirt pocket. He placed it in his mouth as he began patting himself down, searching for a match. "But I won't like it."

Arthur almost chuckled, pulling a match out of his own pocket. He struck it against his boot heel, then reached out to light John's cigarette for him. "Nobody's asking you to like it, Marston. Just get it done, make the German happy, and get him off of my ass. Do that, and we're square."

"Square? I was unaware that I owed you a damn thing, Morgan."

"I saved your sorry life on that mountain."

"Sure. Thanks to Abigail and Javier. Otherwise, you would've left me up there. You said it yourself."

"Yeah. But the point is I didn't, and here you are." Arthur pointed out.

"Here I am." John agreed. "About to do some… Cold blooded reptile's bidding."

"Would that be me, or Strauss?" Arthur asked, arching an eyebrow.

"The fact that you have to ask speaks volumes."

This time, Arthur did chuckle. "I guess it does."

They stood there for a moment, letting the seconds roll by. They both ought to have been getting ready, but for whatever reason they stayed. They occasionally blew out puffs of smoke from their cigarettes, but otherwise remained silent. Arthur allowed the sounds of early morning birdsong and rustling leaves to soak in.

"That's the reason I picked you, you know." Arthur surprised them both by speaking.

"Pardon?" John asked.

Arthur waved it off. "Ehh, it's nothin', never mind." He said, trying to dismiss the topic altogether.

"Well now you got me curious." John said.

"I guess-" Arthur began, not sure how to explain. Dutch and Hosea were the ones who were good with words. "I knew you wouldn't enjoy it. Micah is the only other one I felt might be able to manage it, but I knew he would probably get a kick out of it all. Somehow that didn't feel right."

"Nothing about that man feels right." John pointed out.

"You ain't wrong about that." Arthur agreed. "Just… Get out there, and do your best to scare the money out of the feller. Rough him up a little if you have to. _Only_ if you have to. Got it?"

"Got it. Sounds easy enough."

"I'm sure it will be." Arthur said. "Thanks."

Before John could reply, another voice called out, breaking the silence of the camp.

"Arthur!" Charles called. "Are you ready to go? Trelawny and Javier rode out ahead of us already."

"Don't get impatient with me, Mister Smith, I'm on my way." Arthur replied, picking up his hat and shrugging on his tan leather jacket. "Got caught up in some business matters, but we're all good now. Ain't we, Marston?"

"Yeah. We're good." John agreed.

Arthur checked his reflection in the small mirror he kept near his tent. His short-cropped hair looked messy, and he wouldn't have time to shave that morning. His stubble was threatening to grow into a beard, but he'd worry about that another time. He placed his hat on his head, pulling the brim down to his brow.

"Let's get going, Charles." He said, clapping the man on his shoulder as he passed.

Charles turned to leave, giving John a wave before he did. "Good to see you back on your feet, John."

"Good to be back on my feet, I think. You two take care now."

He watched them ride out for a minute, finishing off the last of his cigarette. He took one last draw of smoke, holding it in while he tossed the remainder of the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with heel of his boot.

He let the tobacco scented smoke out in a heavy sigh, turning to get his horse ready to ride.

He felt like it was going to be a long morning.

 **-RDR-**

In reality, it had only been two days since Arthur had set out to help rescue Sean McGuire. However, the ride back had felt like it had taken the better part of a week.

They'd split up to ride back to camp, trying to minimize the odds of being recognized as part of the gang. Javier and Charles had each gone their own way, and somehow Arthur had been saddled with the responsibility of escorting Sean back.

Strangely enough, he'd actually preferred it when he was being shot at by bounty hunters. Yes, his life had been in danger, but he'd at least known that a bullet would've offered a quick death. Now that he'd avoided that, he was being subjected to a slow, agonizing form of torture.

"They thought they had me broken then, but I'm bred from rebel stock, I am. My father and my father's father fought against tyrants, and I know a thing or two about that meself. It's all about not giving up, even when things seem their darkest. Keep kickin' even when they think they've finally got you down."

"That is some very sagely advice, McGuire." Arthur droned. "I'll be sure to treasure it just as much as the first two times you gave it."

"Yer a funny man, Arthur Morgan. Keep joking like that and I might actually start to think that you don't enjoy talkin' to me."

"What ever would give you that notion, I wonder?" Arthur asked, voice laden with sarcasm. "Who wouldn't enjoy listenin' to you talk about your _fascinating_ family history?"

"Exactly what I'm sayin'." Sean agreed. Arthur doubted that the man had missed the sarcasm, but rather chose to ignore it entirely. "You know, Arthur, I feel like you're one of the few who really appreciates me as much as I deserve."

"More than you deserve, more like. Though that ain't sayin' much. I'd appreciate you a lot more if you could let me ride in peace for longer than five minutes."

"There you go with your jokes again, Mister Morgan."

"Uh huh." Arthur replied. "You know what really gets me, though?"

"What's that, friend?" Sean asked.

"How is it that Javier, Charles, and I ride out, risk life and limb, and cut you down out of a tree- but you still manage to make this sound like _your_ heroic triumph in the retelling?"

"Because it is, Arthur! What with my roguish charm, sharp wit, and unflappable courage, my escape was already a bygone conclusion. You three riding in was merely a formality."

"I'll keep that in mind for the next time you find yourself in some terrible situation of your own making."

"Don't mistake me, Arthur. I appreciate all of you. I do! I mean, I already know how much I mean to the lot of yous, but to see you all mount such a courageous rescue- it's moving, is what it is."

"I'm still eagerly awaiting the day that something 'moves' you to speechlessness."

Sean laughed out loud at that. "It'll probably be the same day that something moves you to tears, you angry old bastard."

Arthur smirked at that. As annoying as he openly admitted to finding Sean, even he had to admit that the younger man had his moments.

At long last, they came to the thin trail through the woods that led to their camp at horseshoe overlook.

"Who goes there?" A familiar raspy voice called out.

"It's Arthur!" He shouted in reply.

John stepped out from between some trees flanking the tail, lowering the repeater he'd been brandishing.

"Well, well. The triumphant return."

"Something like that." Arthur responded. "Did Charles and Javier already make it back in?" He asked, climbing down from the horse he'd been sharing with Sean.

"Yeah, around an hour ago. You take the scenic route?"

"Nah." Arthur answered, gesturing toward the horse. "It's a borrowed horse, with two passengers. Didn't wanna overwork it."

"He probably just wanted an excuse to enjoy my company a while longer, more likely." Sean jibed from the saddle.

"Yeah, that's probably it. Now why don't you ride the rest of the way into camp, and let some of them enjoy your company for a bit?"

"And let you miss my return party?" Sean asked dramatically. "My Knight in shining armor himself?"

"I'm sure I'll manage. Now get!" Arthur ordered, giving the horse's flank a firm slap. The animal whinnied and set off at a trot.

"I'll save you some whisky then, Morgan!" Sean promised as he rode off toward camp.

The two men watched him ride off before John broke the silence. "I see your trip was a success."

"I guess you could call it that. No one died, and Mister McGuire is back to regale us with tales of his spectacular escape."

"Well when you put it like that…" John said.

"Yeah." Arthur pulled out a carton of cigarettes, offering one to John. The other man accepted, and soon they were both smoking idly.

"Still no word on Mac?" John asked.

"No. Might have to assume the worst." Arthur answered.

John only nodded absently.

"So, how did your errand go? Has Herr Strauss successfully wrung another man for all he's worth?"

John scoffed. "Lets just say I was a bit less successful."

"How do you mean? Downs give you trouble?"

"Couldn't even give me that much." John said distastefully. "Poor bastard could barely throw an insult, never mind a punch. About all he did manage to do was cough on me."

"Sounds delightful."

"Sure." John commented. "The whole thing was a waste of time. He said he owed more on the house than it was worth, and he didn't have much more than the clothes on his back."

"Sounds like Strauss was a fool for lending him money."

"I already told him as much."

"Well… Sorry for wasting your time, then."

"That's fine. We'll just say you owe me now." John said.

Arthur huffed out a quick chuckle. "Sure."

They stood in what could be almost be considered a companionable silence for a bit, feeling the air cool as the sun began to set. Birdsong gradually gave way to the sounds of insects and other nocturnal creatures. An owl hooted somewhere nearby, the sound drifting down from the trees above them.

Distantly, Arthur could hear the sound of music and voices rising over the din of nature. Sean was likely being welcomed back.

"Sounds like they've gotten the celebration started already." John observed aloud.

"Seems like it." Arthur agreed.

"You ain't heading over there? You could probably do with some rest after that whole business with the bounty hunters."

"With Mister McGuire running his mouth over there, I ain't very likely to get much in the way of rest just yet. Besides, celebrations ain't much my sort of thing anyhow."

"Yeah." Was all John said.

"Matter of fact," Arthur began, reaching out for John's repeater. "Why don't you hand me that gun, and head on in yourself. I'll take this watch."

"You sure?" John asked.

"Yeah. I'd rather enjoy the peace and quiet out here, anyway."

"Alright then," John said, handing Arthur the carbine. "You have yourself a good evening, Mister Morgan."

"I will certainly do my best." Arthur assured, throwing John a lazy mock salute as he started back toward the camp.

Arthur settled heavily on a fallen trunk, letting out a woosh of air as he relaxed his tired muscles. Another hoot drew his attention, and he found his gaze lifting upwards, toward the branches above him. He found the owl, with its wide, intelligent eyes staring down at him. The creature made no further noise, instead opting to simply watch.

"Don't suppose you're here to keep me company?" Arthur asked.

The owl flew off.

"Thought not." Arthur huffed, settling back. The image of the bird lingered though, and after a minute Arthur had his journal open, scribbling out yet another drawing.

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 **For those of you who have completed the game, I think you see where I'm going with this. Well not all of it, hopefully. But the general gist.**

 **What are your thoughts? Like it? Hate it? Let me know.**

 **Have a fantastic week everyone.**

 **Cheers,**

 **Specter.**


	2. Fishing with Jack

**So I meant to get this out around Christmas/ New Years timeframe, but uhh... So much for that. Anyway, here it is! Thanks for your patience and- of course- enjoy.**

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Chapter 2

 _Well, I suppose it had to happen eventually, regardless of how unlikely it might've been. John Marston finally had an idea. And a pretty damn good one, at that._

 _Stop the train with an oil wagon. Hell, almost wish I'd thought of it. But it's so damn simple, I don't think anyone besides Marston could've._

 _We do it this way, there's no dynamite involved. No derailing. Most importantly, I ain't gonna have to jump on it while it's still movin', neither. I still don't think Javier fully appreciates how lucky he got when he didn't snap his neck or get caught under the wheels falling off of the last one._

 _I ain't in any hurry to go doin' that again any time soon. Turns out I like living. Or, at least, not dying._

 _We're trying to keep the job small. As few people as possible, and even then only the ones we can trust to keep their heads together when everything goes south- Which it will. That means me, Marston, and Charles. Maybe Javier. We ain't expecting anything too exciting though, so we may not even wind up needing him._

 _The train don't come through 'til tonight anyhow, so we've got time to think on it. For now, everything is as prepared as it can be. Now we just wa-_

"Hey, Arthur." Abigail's voice interrupted Arthur's scribbling.

Arthur shut his journal, looking up at her as he tucked it away. "Miss Roberts."

Abigail's hands wrung together nervously, and she didn't seem to want to meet his eyes. "How ya doin'?"

Arthur smirked, leaning back on the bench he'd settled in on that morning. "One of these days, you might actually ask me that question without a request followin' right after."

Abigail's shoulders slumped slightly. "Am I that obvious?" She asked, the smile gracing her lips looking a little guilty.

"I would say 'no', but I do my best not to lie to you. I'm a dishonest enough man as is."

"Fair enough," She replied, letting out a breathy chuckle. She gestured at the empty spot on the bench beside him. "Mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest, Miss Roberts. It's a free country- or so they keep sayin', anyway."

"Just 'Abigail' is fine, Arthur." She said as she settled down beside him.

He gave a slight nod. "Sure. So what is it I can do for you?"

She chewed on her lip for a moment, mulling over her words. Finally, she let out a sigh, and her bright blue eyes found his. "It's Jack."

"What about him?" Arthur asked.

"He just- I don't know. He's been so… Withdrawn lately. He doesn't talk as much. He barely smiles." She looked so crestfallen in that moment, seeming lost. It was clear enough that she didn't know what to do, or she wouldn't have sought out his help. Abigail liked to handle things herself, typically. Stubbornly, even. She wouldn't reach out until she was near the end of her rope. Arthur's chest couldn't help but tighten just a little at the thought.

"I don't know what to do, Arthur. All this moving around, and- and losing folks. It can't be easy for him, but he ain't talking to me. I- I just…"

She looked on the verge of tears, and Arthur felt more than a little awkward. He reached out, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder. "Now, now. None of that." He was never really sure what to say in these types of situations. "Just… let me know what I can do to help."

Abigail sniffled a bit, frustratedly wiping at her eyes. "I don't even know why I'm like this, I just-"

"You're a mother worried about her kid." Arthur interrupted. "Frankly, I'd be a little concerned if you wasn't upset."

She was quiet for a moment after that. After a bit, she seemed to collect herself, turning to him. "Would you… would you do something with him?"

"Like?" He asked.

She shrugged in reply, and he arched an eyebrow.

"Well I can't take him on a job. I don't think he can shoot straight enough to rob anybody yet." He pointed out.

Abigail chuckled lightly. "No, not like that. Just- get his mind off of everything for a little while. Take him somewhere."

Arthur paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Don't you think that's something the boy's father ought to be helping with?"

"You know his father is useless." She replied dismissively.

Arthur's mouth pressed into a thin line. He'd said as much about Marston himself- recently, even- but something about hearing it from her seemed worse. The man really did seem to be trying to make amends. In his own way, anyway.

"Sorry." She said quickly, gaze dropping to the floor. "I don't mean to sound so callous but- well you know John. Maybe somewhere in there is a good man, but... I just don't think I'm ready to trust him with my son just yet. Maybe not ever."

Arthur noticed the way she said 'my son', excluding John entirely. Not the best sign. He didn't comment on it though, instead simply asking, "Well why me, then?"

"Well, Jack likes you. And I… I'd just really appreciate it." She looked back up at him then, bright blue eyes seeming to shine in the early morning light.

Arthur coughed, quickly getting to his feet. "Well… your lack of faith in Williamson as a caretaker has been noted, Miss Abigail." Arthur said with a grunt as he stretched his arms out. "But it's also probably justified. Alright, I'll take care of it."

"Thank you." Abigail said, sounding relieved. She stood up, smiling earnestly. "I knew I could count on you, Arthur."

"Don't mention it," He replied, grabbing his hat from its place beside where he'd been sitting. "So where is the little man?"

"He was over on the edge of the camp, by the horses." She told him, pointing.

He turned his head in the direction she'd indicated. Jack was sitting by a tree not too far from where the horses were grazing. The boy looked like he was drawing something in the dirt using a thin stick.

He turned back to Abigail, giving her the little mock salute that he did so often before he walked away.

She watched him walk over, her hopes high.

From what she could tell, Arthur really was one of Jack's favorite people in the camp. Charles could hold the boy's attention for hours by telling him stories of the native folk, and their way of life. Shaun could have just about anyone smiling and laughing with his sharp tongue and easygoing manner, though Abigail really didn't want him repeating most of the stories he knew when Jack was present. Javier was excellent at lifting everyone's spirits when he settled by the campfire with his guitar.

But Arthur? He just had a sort of effortless charm about him, once you got past the gruff exterior.

"Whatchu up to?" Abigail heard Arthur's voice carry across the distance between them.

"Playing." Her son replied.

"Anything fun?"

"I guess…" Jack sounded unsure. It made Abigail's heart break a little every time she heard that downcast tone in her son's voice. He ought to be playing with other kids his age. Doing chores. Getting in trouble for little things.

She almost wished that he had other children around, but would never wish this life on any other child. He wasn't supposed to be out here, constantly hiding and dodging the law like they were.

"It's about time you started earning your keep, right?" Arthur's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Okay." Jack replied.

"So let's go catch us some fish!" The older man said encouragingly. There was a child-like enthusiasm in his voice that brought a smile to Abigail's face. He could try to sell the tough-guy image all he liked, but everyone knew Arthur was soft as melted butter when it came to kids. Or Jack, at least.

"Okay!" Jack agreed again, this time with more excitement in his voice. He hopped up to his feet, bolting over to where she knew he kept the rod Hosea had made for him. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but Abigail could've sworn she saw a toothy smile on her son's face.

She glanced over at Arthur, hoping he would catch her appreciative look. He didn't though, already heading over to get his mare ready for the short ride to the river.

She let out a relieved sigh, standing to rejoin Miss Grimshaw and the other ladies in their duties to maintain the camp.

As she walked, she thought about Jack. In the life she lived, raising a child was a colossal undertaking- especially alone. She was doing the best she could, given the circumstances, but was it enough?

She kept trying to teach the boy right from wrong, and tried pushing him towards the people she considered to be good influences. Well- better influences. But what if he grew up to be like Williamson, or worse- Bell?

She knew she couldn't stay. Not if she wanted her son to grow up doing anything besides robbing and killing, anyway. The only problem was, she had no idea what she would do if she left. This gang had been all she'd known for such a long time, she couldn't imagine being on her own.

Abigail shook her head, trying to push away the train of thought for the time being. There wasn't much she could do at the moment anyway. All she could really do was bide her time and hope that an opportunity would present itself eventually. If not, well… She'd make an opportunity.

She looked over in the direction that Arthur and Jack had ridden off. For now, Jack would be fine. He was still too young to get involved in anything overly dangerous, and the other gang members treated him well. For now he was safe, and that was what mattered.

And hell, maybe he could even have a little fun in the meantime.

-RDR-

"I'm _booorrredd_." Jack complained.

"Well, that's good." Arthur replied.

"It's good?" The boy asked, with more than a little confusion in his voice.

"Sure." Arthur said. "That means you're doing it right."

Jack looked down at the fishing rod in his hands, an expression halfway between concentration and aggravation etched on his tiny face. "We're not doing _anything_! Fishing is boring!"

"Well, yeah, it's boring. Boring as hell." Arthur agreed. "But then, something happens. And when it does, you gotta be ready."

"You don't look ready. You look like you're falling asleep."

Arthur tipped the brim of his hat upwards, just a bit, so he could look at Jack. The kid wasn't wrong. He'd found a nice spot to sit down, lean back, and pull his hat down over his eyes. He'd actually been drifting off for just a moment before Jack had started complaining.

"'Course I'm ready. I'm just relaxing. The fish can tell if you're tense."

"They can?"

"Sure."

"Is that why we haven't caught anything yet?"

"Probably."

"So we just need to relax?"

"Yep."

"Like Uncle?"

Arthur's face scrunched in distaste. "What Uncle does is well beyond relaxing. That man is just lazy as hell. Don't compare me to him. I'm ugly, but I ain't that ugly."

Jack smirked, as though he'd just remembered something amusing. "Miss Grimshaw says that you're a handsome young man." Jack said, sounding like he was withholding a laugh.

"And what's so funny about that?" Arthur asked with mock offense.

"Why does she call you that? You're old!"

This time, Arthur was actually a little offended. He sat up, looking at the boy defensively. "I ain't _that_ old. Besides, everyone's young compared to that crone." Arthur said, then caught himself when Jack started laughing. "Don't tell her I said that."

"I won't."

Arthur still felt like word would somehow reach her- it usually did- but he was content with that answer for the time being.

He leaned back a little, letting himself relax again. A mischievous smirk worked its way into his face.

"So… Anyone else say I'm handsome?"

"No, just Miss Grimshaw." Jack replied off-handedly, almost without thinking.

Arthur frowned, settling fully into his original position. "Well I guess I walked into that one."

He pulled the brim of his hat back down over his eyes, laying back against the bank of the river once again.

A surprising amount of time passed without any questions or conversation. Eventually though, Jack had to break the silence.

"Uncle Arthur?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"You brought my poppa back down from that mountain, right?"

"Me and Uncle Javier, yeah. Why?"

"Thank you." Jack said earnestly. "Momma was sad when he was gone. She didn't say anything, but I know she was."

"Yeah, I kinda figured the same thing." Arthur agreed. "That's why I went to go get him."

It was a partial lie- most of the convincing had come from Javier pestering him- but there was enough truth there that Arthur didn't feel guilty saying it to the boy.

Jack went silent again. Arthur tipped the brim of his hat back up to see the kid, and this time he could plainly see the pensive look on his face. It was obvious he had more to say.

Sighing, Arthur fixed his hat and sat up straighter, looking out over the water. He could see the splashes of fish swimming near his line, but none of them went for the cheese hooked at the end- the bastards.

"Momma still looks sad now." Jack finally said.

"Well… I think she might still be worried."

"But Poppa's okay now."

"Yeah, more or less. How _you_ doin', kid?" Arthur asked, looking over at Jack.

"I'm fine." The boy replied quickly.

"You sure?" Arthur pressed. Jack nodded.

Arthur felt like he was supposed to do more. Somehow he doubted _'well the kid said he was fine'_ would fly if he had to speak to the mother later. That and- well… Damn it if he wasn't a little worried, too.

His lips pressed together as he exhaled slowly from his nose. "These last few weeks can't have been easy." He finally said. Jack looked at him, looking more curious than anything else. "I mean- I know they ain't been. Lots of movin', and packin'. Then the blizzard and-" _We lost some folks_ , He didn't say.

"It's just been a lot to take in." He eventually settled on something less direct. "I know it has. 'Specially for you and your Momma, having that scare with John."

Jack didn't say anything. When he wasn't spouting off questions, the boy had a thoughtful demeanor about him. He just seemed to soak it all in, processing everything at once.

Arthur pulled himself up to a crouch, kneeling in front of Jack. The kid was short enough that Arthur found himself at about eye level with him. "You've been really brave. You've been strong enough for you and your Momma both." Arthur searched the boy's eyes, looking for _some_ indication of what was going on in there. The kid's face was a blank slate. He'd make a hell of a poker player.

"But you don't gotta be strong all the time, you know." Arthur continued. He removed his hat, plopping it into Jack's head. He wasn't completely sure what had possessed him to do so. It'd just felt right, at the moment.

"That's my job, okay?"

Before he could fully register what was going on, Arthur felt a pair of tiny arms wrap around his neck. It felt as though Jack was trembling slightly, and Arthur had no idea what to say or do. He settled for slowly patting the boy's back, letting the hug play out.

"There you go. You're alright." Arthur muttered softly, distantly noting that he used the same words to calm horses. Thankfully, it seemed to work.

Jack pulled away steadier than before, wiping his nose with a sniffle.

"You'll be alright, kid." Arthur assured him, holding him by his shoulders. "Just- look, if you ever have something you need to talk about… but you don't wanna talk to your mother? Come to me or Hosea, okay?"

"Okay." Jack agreed.

"Alright then. Just try not to bottle anything up. It ain't good for you. You had your Momma worried."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Just… Think about what I said."

"Okay." Jack promised. His face suddenly lit up. "I think I know what'll make Momma feel better!"

He bolted upright, making to run off, but stopped at the last second. He looked down at the fishing rod that he'd left abandoned on the riverbank, then back up at Arthur. Arthur's hat nearly fell off with the motion, too big for the boy's head.

The older man chuckled, fixing the hat for him. "Go ahead. I'll keep an eye on the fishing rod for you."

Jack smiled appreciatively, then dashed off. He ran between patches of plants, picking flowers as he went.

A grin found its way to Arthur's face as he watched the kid work. Jack seemed visibly animated, darting between flower patches with more enthusiasm than he'd seen the kid show in weeks.

 _Job well done, Morgan_. He mentally congratulated himself.

His attention was pulled away when he heard a tug at the line. He picked up his rod, confused. He hadn't seen it so much as twitch. Maybe he was just imagining-

Another pull. Not on his line, he realized.

"Oh you gotta be kidding me." He said, watching as Jack's little fishing rod- practically a toy made for him by Hosea- was tugged closer to the water.

He dropped his own rod, reaching down to grab the smaller one before it was pulled into the river. He picked it up, pulling back as the fish fought against him.

The next minute or so was simply repeating the techniques that Hosea had taught him. Pull, let off some slack, reel when it got tired. Repeat. The little bastard was a fighter, though, and it actually took Arthur a fair amount of effort to haul the fish back to shore.

When he finally did, he beamed with pride at the eight-or-so pound salmon that dangled off of the line.

"That was on my line?" Jack asked from behind him.

"Sure was." Arthur said, not taking his eyes away from the fish. "What were all them flowers for, anyway?"

"I made Momma a necklace. Look!"

Arthur had begun to turn around when an unfamiliar voice made itself heard.

"My my, what a charming young man. In such… complex circumstances."

The fish fell from Arthur's hands. Before it had even hit the ground, a gleaming silvered cattleman revolver had already replaced it. Arthur held the gun with practiced skill, aiming directly at the newcomer.

Two men in pressed suits and bowler hats approached. The lead one- a man with a thin, rodent-like face- approached unarmed, wearing a smile that looked about as clean and fabricated as the clothing he wore. The man who followed behind had a broad, stern-looking visage decorated with a thick mustache.

The second man had a shotgun shouldered and aimed at Arthur, but Arthur himself kept his revolver centered on the leading man's forehead.

"Now Sir, no need for that." The rodent faced man said, smug smile remaining in place. "We wouldn't want things to become… Disagreeable in front of- your boy, I presume?"

Arthur used the handle of the fishing rod in his other hand to guide Jack behind him, shielding the boy with his body. "I don't make it a habit to answer personal questions to folk I don't know. 'Specially the kind aiming a shotgun at me."

"You're absolutely right, Mister Morgan. Agent Ross, lower the gun please."

If the man expected a reaction from Arthur over the fact that he knew his name, he would've been disappointed. Arthur kept his expression carefully neutral, with only a slight scowl tugging at his lips.

If anything, the man's partner- Agent Ross, apparently- looked more surprised than Arthur did at the order to lower his weapon. He did so, albeit begrudgingly.

"There, you see? We can be civil about this. Now why don't you lower your weapon as well, so we can talk like decent folk?"

"I'm a lot of things, Agent. Decent ain't one of 'em." Arthur said, but still holstered his revolver nonetheless. His hand never moved far from the holster, though.

"Oh, I believe that, Mister Morgan. Isn't that right, Agent Ross?" The man said, turning to his partner. "After all, you've read the file too. Arthur Morgan: A classic case study in unfortunate life choices. Ran away from home, fell in with a gang…"

"Is this where I'm supposed to be impressed that you can read?" Arthur asked, sarcasm starting to leak into his voice. He caught the slightest twitch of irritation at the corner of the man's eye in reaction to his tone.

"Cute, Mister Morgan." The man said, fabricated smile becoming strained. "If a bit juvenile."

"Yeah, I get that pretty often, Mister."

"Ah, where are my manners? I'm Agent James Milton, and this is Agent Edgar Ross."

Ross gave Morgan a sarcastic- and slightly bitter- tip of his hat, and Arthur gave a curt nod in return.

"We're here representing the Pinkerton Detective Agency. I'll assume that you know what that is, and what that means for you."

"Sure." Arthur replied. "Means you're here at the beck and call of some overstuffed pig or another. Means you're here for me." Arthur said, hand still hovering over his holstered cattleman.

"Not you, Mister Morgan. Though you may be interested to hear that you _do_ have a rather sizable bounty on you. What was it the last time we checked, Ross?" Milton asked.

"Five thousand." Ross supplied.

"Ah, that's right." Milton affirmed. "Very impressive, Mister Morgan. Five thousand, for your head alone. You must have some enemies in very high places."

Arthur gave a low whistle. "Five thousand dollars…" His smirk returned. "Can I turn myself in?"

"We're here for your associate, Dutch Van Der Line."

"Old Dutch?" Arthur asked. "I ain't seen him in… Years now." Arthur lied.

"That's funny." Milton commented. "Because we just recently spoke to the victims of a train robbery conducted up near Granite Pass."

"Train robbery?" Arthur asked, doing his best to sound surprised. "Ain't that a little… Old fashioned?" Arthur asked with a breathy chuckle.

"Evidently not." Milton answered flatly. "These poor souls told us all about the violent robbery, the cold-blooded murder of their compatriots, and all the details that they could remember about the gang that perpetrated the whole ordeal." Milton explained. "And you know the damnedest thing about it all, Mister Morgan?"

"What's that, Agent Milton?"

"They told us that a man- very much fitting _your_ description, no less- was not only present, but spared their lives at the end of it all. Now I find that very curious indeed… don't you, Mister Morgan?"

"I have a very common look, Agent. They must have me confused with someone else."

"Indeed." Milton replied, though his tone suggested he was doubtful. "So while you've been down here _fishing_ , the man we've had you confused with has been robbing trains and sparing lives."

"Sounds about right." Arthur agreed.

"Well how about that." Milton said, rolling his jaw slowly before setting it. He continued to stare Arthur down with narrowed eyes. "Well… since either way you'd be showing signs of being one of the few outlaws to be capable of something other than murder, we'd like to strike a deal. If you happen to run into your old boss, we're willing to grant you complete amnesty in exchange for any information regarding his whereabouts." Milton said. "That means no more file, and no more bounty. You'd be a free man, Mister Morgan."

Arthur paused for a moment, unable to keep the unimpressed look off of his face. He wasn't planning in betraying Dutch at all, but especially not on the word of this greasy little rat of a man.

"Like I said," Arthur repeated slowly. "Ain't seen him in years. If I happen to run into him, though, I'll be sure to point you gentlemen in the right direction."

"That's all we ask, Mister Morgan. You have a fine day, now." Milton said with a tip of his hat. He turned to leave, but stopped himself just before he began to walk away.

"Oh, I almost forgot to mention." He said, turning back to Arthur. "The Van Der Linde gang actually hit Blackwater a week or so before the train robbery."

"Is that a fact?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, it is. That was some nasty business, back there."

"Sounds unfortunate." Arthur said.

"Yes. We did, however, manage to thin their ranks just a bit. Mac Callander- not sure if you recall him from your days with the gang- was shot and killed."

Arthur felt his Jaw muscles tighten.

Milton continued, his smile returning as he spoke. "He was already pretty badly shot up by the time I got there… Didn't have much time left. It was… More of a mercy killing, really."

Before he could really think about what he was doing, Arthur had already thrown Jack's fishing rod to the ground. He felt his muscles clench and his hands ball into fists.

Ross already had the shotgun trained on him.

Arthur had slipped up. He'd let Milton stir him up, and he'd lowered his guard in his anger. Now Ross had the drop on him, and there was little he could do about it.

He clenched his teeth, angry at both the agents and himself.

"You enjoy being some rich man's toy, do ya?" He hissed.

"I enjoy society, Mister Morgan- flaws and all." Milton shot back. "Van Der Linde and all others like him venerate savagery, and will die savagely."

"Oh, we're all gonna die, agent." Arthur said.

"Yes." Milton agreed. "Some of us sooner than others. If that's not what you want for you or your boy there, then I'd recommend that you do your best not to stand in our way." Milton swiveled on his heel, stomping off. "Good day, Mister Morgan."

"Goodbye, agent." Arthur replied. He stopped the second man as he turned to walk away. "You- Ross."

The man stopped, shouldering his shotgun. "What?" He asked irritably.

"You tell your friend there to watch who he riles up out here. Some folks ain't too forgiving of strangers threatening their family."

Ross smiled, but there was nothing kind about it. "I'll keep that in mind. You enjoy your… fishing, Mister Morgan."

Arthur continued to watch them as they walked away, mounting up on their horses. It bothered him that he hadn't even noticed their approach. He was getting complacent.

He finally looked away when he felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked down to find Jack trying to get his attention.

"Is everything okay, Uncle Arthur?"

Arthur snapped out of whatever reverie he was in, kneeling down to Jack's height. "Yeah, of course." Arthur assured with his most comforting tone. "Why don't you go ahead and grab your fishing pole so we can head back out?"

"Okay." Jack agreed. He didn't turn away, though. He continued to stare at Arthur, clearly at odds with himself.

Arthur sighed. "What's on your mind, kid?"

"Why did you lie about Uncle Dutch?" Jack asked.

"Well…" Arthur began. "Those were… Some disagreeable men, that's all. Didn't want them to find him and make any trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"Try not to worry about it." Arthur said. "Tell you what, you hurry and pack everything up… And then we can stop by the general store in Valentine. You can pick out a new storybook to replace that other one you lost, and I'll buy it for you. Sound good?"

"Yeah!" Jack agreed excitedly, bolting off to collect his things.

In the meantime, Arthur ran over what he knew in his head.

The Pinkertons were closer than they'd realized, hot on their trail. Not good, but good to know.

The fact that they'd assumed Jack was his son rather than John's- coupled with the fact that they couldn't disprove his claim of no longer running with the gang- told him that their "files" weren't quite as up to date as they'd like him to believe. Not necessarily huge advantages, but he'd take what he could get. Every small bit of misinformation that the Pinkertons had could only make things easier for the gang in the long run.

"I'm ready to go, Uncle Arthur!"

Arthur snapped out of another reverie. "Yeah, alright. Hang on just a second." Arthur called back, walking over to his horse to unhitch her from the nearby tree where he'd left her. The horse nickered softly while he worked, angling her muzzle down toward the satchel at his side. She knew where the snacks were kept.

He relinquished one with a chuckle, patting the horse's neck as he fed her an oat cake. "Hungry today, ain't ya?" He asked, leading the horse away from the tree. She followed along calmly, munching happily on the snack.

In the late morning light, the horse's light brown coat seemed to shine. Arthur made it a point to brush it well and often, and so the American Standardbred was likely in a better state of personal grooming than he was, what with his tenancy to forget to shave. The horse had patches of tan doppled along its flank, and the lighter color also applied to the horse's mane and tail.

He climbed up into the saddle, settling in with practiced ease that came from spending nearly as much of his life on horseback as on his own two feet. He gave the reins a light tug to the side, giving the flank a light tap with his boot at the same time, prompting her to turn.

He brought the horse over to the riverbank, where Jack was waiting eagerly.

"You almost forgot your fishing pole too!" Jack shouted.

"I did?" Arthur asked, feigning surprise. He looked at the rod in the kid's hand with a mixture of betrayal and resentment. The damn thing couldn't even manage to catch something before the little toy fishing pole Hosea had made the boy. He'd left it behind on purpose.

"I guess you are getting old!" Jack laughed.

"I guess so." Arthur chuckled, taking both of the rods from Jack's hands. The kid had somehow managed to bundle them up in such a way that the lines had gotten horribly tangled, but that was something he'd worry about later. For now he just tucked them into the side of the saddle, reaching down to help Jack up.

Jack settled in pretty easily. The kid seemed to be a natural on horseback, and Arthur had no doubt that the he would be a great rider, in his own time. For now, he seemed content enough to share the saddle.

"I like your horse, Uncle Arthur." Jack commented.

Arthur gave the horse a little tap on the flank with the heel of his boot, signaling for her to get going. He didn't wear spurs, since he figured the animal could get the message easily enough without them. So far, he hadn't been disappointed.

He'd bought this particular horse from the stables in Valentine, just before riding off on that hunting trip with Hosea. She'd been a little temperamental in the beginning, but once they'd bonded, he'd found her to be an excellent mount. She had his own stubbornness and loyalty, and- he suspected- at least twice the intelligence of Williamson.

"Me too, kid." Arthur replied, giving the animal a little pat on the neck.

"Why'd you call her Cinnamon?" Jack asked.

At the sound of her name, the horse gave a little snuff out of her nostrils, turning her head slightly to look back at her rider. Arthur briefly entertained the notion that she was curious, herself.

"I honestly couldn't tell you, kid. It's what came to me at the time. Seemed to fit well enough." Arthur explained.

"It's funny." Jack commented, giving Cinnamon a little scratch just under her mane. "But I like it."

Cinnamon gave another nicker, turning her head forward once again.

"Well I'm glad you both seem to approve."

-RDR-

Both their trip to Valentine and the ride back to camp were largely uneventful. Arthur had made the trip to throw the agents off of his scent, but it seemed as though the extra step had been unnecessary. He'd kept a sharp eye out for any signs of unwanted tagalongs, but it looked like the Pinkertons had shown little interest in pursuit.

Either they'd believed him when he'd told them that he was no longer with the gang or- more likely- they felt it was only a matter of time before they found the Van Der Linde hideout anyway. Arthur had to begrudgingly admit that they weren't the most inconspicuous of gangs out there.

Either way, it was a relief to return to camp and find that everything was as he'd left it.

He was still in the process of hitching up his horse when he heard Abigail's voice.

"There's my handsome man!" She shouted delightedly.

Confused, Arthur turned his head in her direction, only to find her making a beeline to Jack.

Ah. That made a lot more sense.

"You two took your time coming back, didn't you?" She asked, kneeling down to give Jack a hug and a messy kiss on the cheek.

"Momma…" He whined, but couldn't keep back a little chuckle.

Arthur couldn't help but watch the whole exchange. It seemed strange to him. Well, actually, it seemed so _normal_. Which was what made it seem so out of place.

"How'd it go?" Abigail asked.

Arthur stared dumbly for a moment before he realized she was talking to him now. "Oh, uh, it went fine. That boy of yours is a natural. Caught a fish without even trying."

"Uh huh." Abigail agreed absently, her eyes roving over Arthur's face. She seemed to be looking for something, and Arthur felt a little unsettled under the assessment.

He coughed lightly, turning to Jack. "Say kid, why don't you show your momma what you got?"

Jack nodded excitedly, thrusting the book right in front of Abigail's face. Thankfully, that broke off her scrutinizing gaze. "Look Momma! Uncle Arthur got me a new book! It's about Knights, and dragons, and-"

"No, kid. The _other_ thing." Arthur said.

Jack looked confused for a moment before seeming to remember. "Oh yeah!" He ran over to Cinnamon's saddlebag, pulling out the weave of flowers he'd made earlier and presenting it to his mother. "I made this necklace for you, Momma!"

"Oh, sweetie, that's wonderful. Thank you." She said, hugging him close.

Arthur pulled his eyes from the display of maternal affection, walking over to his horse. He dislodged the hopelessly tangled fishing poles from their place in the saddle, giving Cinnamon another little snack as he did so.

"Hey, Jack. Why don't you take these over to Hosea to see if he can't cut the line off of 'em." Arthur said, holding the rods out to the boy.

"Okay!" Jack agreed, starting off to find the older man.

Arthur stopped him one hand on his shoulder, taking his hat off of Jack's head with the other. "Gonna need this back for a bit. Go on, now."

Both adults watched him leave before turning to look at one another. Abigail crossed her arms expectantly, waiting for Arthur to say something.

Arthur, for his part, wasn't sure how to broach the subject of the Pinkerton's visit. Abigail was… Protective. If she felt as though he hadn't done his damnedest to protect Jack, he was unlikely to hear the end of it any time soon. So the silence remained, guilty and uncomfortable.

Abigail was the one to break it. "So what happened?" She asked flatly.

Arthur decided then that she didn't seem in the most patient of moods at the moment. It would probably be best to tell her about it later.

"Eh, just a run in with some… undesirable wildlife. Nothing I couldn't handle, and nothing you need to concern yourself with. I took care of it."

Abigail looked unimpressed.

"Well…" Arthur said, starting to turn around. "I need to talk to Dutch before I head out with John, so-"

"Not so fast, Arthur Morgan." Abigail ordered.

Arthur froze in his tracks.

She walked around to block his path, blue eyes boring into his. "This morning you told me that you tried not to lie because you were dishonest enough as is. _Now_ I see you're just terrible at it."

Arthur was about to argue. The number of cons that he, Dutch, and Hosea had pulled off over the years suggested he had at least _some_ talent for misdirection. It was just something about Abigail's cold stare that was enough to set any man off balance, really.

However, he somehow felt that arguing his capacity for dishonesty wouldn't help him here.

"Look, I really do need to talk to Dutch. But I'll tell you everything before I leave with John. You have my word on that."

She stared him down for a moment longer before- finally- relenting. "Alright, fine. But if I catch you trying to leave without speaking to me, I swear I'll poison your next meal, Arthur."

Arthur believed her, but he felt as though he'd disarmed the situation enough to slide in another glib comment. "You're really gonna try to convince me that Pearson ain't already trying to poison us?"

"Arthur…" She growled threateningly.

"Alright, alright." He relented, raising his hands. "All jokes aside, then. I'll come find you right after I'm done with Dutch."

She seemed satisfied with that, giving him a curt nod before striding back into the camp. Arthur watched her leave, letting out a deep breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding when she was out of sight. Somehow, that bear he'd faced down with Hosea had seemed less intimidating than that woman could be when she was angry.

John certainly had his hands full if he really intended on trying to win her back over.

He shook his head, fishing a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. He wasn't actually in _that_ much of a rush. It was still about mid-afternoon. He could afford a minute or two to have a smoke and collect his thoughts.

Lord knew he needed it.

He sat down heavily on a fallen tree trunk, letting out a sigh as he lit the cigarette.

He missed the quiet, sometimes. It felt like the more folks they gathered, the rarer his stolen moments of solace became. Which wasn't ideal, seeing as recent events had made them all the more necessary.

It wasn't that he couldn't handle complications. Arthur hadn't really ever known an "easy life". All these people from the east- The city folk, the gold rushers, and those "manifest destiny" nutjobs… They didn't know half of what it was to struggle every single day for the barest of necessities.

Arthur however, did.

Everything he had, he'd worked for. If something wasn't given, he'd taken it. Life was too cutthroat to get hung up on the particulars of kindness and decency.

And through it all, Arthur had kept everything tied down. He was the dependable one. Every time Hosea and Dutch backed themselves into a pit, he'd toss in a rope and pull them right back out.

Lately though- the load felt heavier. He had to look out for more people. More mouths. More souls. More mistakes.

More deaths.

They were reaching a point that the slightest slip up could spell doom for just about anyone, and it didn't help that the margin for error was getting narrower and narrower.

The O'Driscolls were still roaming all over the county. Lawmen and bounty hunters were still combing the countryside for them. Now the Pinkertons were damn near knocking on their door.

They were probably going to have to pick up camp and move again- only a few weeks after settling in, too. That wasn't likely to be a very popular decision. Still, Arthur was confident that Dutch would make the right call, regardless of how poorly it sat with the masses.

After all, it was only a matter of time before _someone_ did _something_ stupid, and got them all found out. With the Pinkertons so close, that wasn't an option.

As he flicked the butt of the cigarette away, he briefly let his thoughts drift back to fishing earlier that morning.

For a minute there, he'd let himself forget about all of it. For a while it had just been him, the kid, and a couple of fishing poles between them. It'd been… simple. Peaceful, maybe.

It was kinda funny how you never really seemed to realize that you were living in a good moment until you looked back on it. Or, Arthur didn't, at least.

That seemed to be a common problem for him. Always looking back.

He shook his head, willing himself to focus. He had work to do.

 _Talk to Dutch, find John, catch a train_.

He started toward Dutch's tent, striding purposefully.

 _Wait, hang on_. He caught himself halfway there. _Talk to Dutch, talk to_ Abigail _, find John, catch a train_.

Pearson's cooking was bad enough without Abigail getting "creative" with the ingredients.

* * *

 **I'm not super pleased about the ending to this one, but hey: had to post it eventually. In case any further clarification is needed on the structuring of this story, There'll be chapters scattered throughout the events of the game's timeline, either changing or fleshing out moments I enjoy/ deem necessary for the story. After that, it'll settle into a more structured, linear format following the events of the main story. That's where the main part of the AU bit of this will come in.**

 **Anyway, just wanted to post a more light-hearted chapter this time around, with a slightly more substantial dad moment by the river. Because I felt a little cheated by this scene in the game. Not to say it wasn't good or that mine is better, but I just wanted a little more, you know? That and Jack is like no 4-5 year old I've ever seen in my life. I've babysat siblings and cousins before. They ask questions, they say things you probably didn't want them to, and they're very frank. Wanted to include a little more of that here. Let me know what you think!**

 **Now I'm gonna reply to some reviews here, so feel free to skip to the bottom if you're even reading this.**

 **iKloudz : I'm interested to see what you think as it progresses. There'll be some stuff that's pretty similar to canon, but rest assured there will be some divergences down the line. Stay tuned, and thanks for reading!**

 **Cosmic Castaway:** **Well, I hope I keep your interest as the story goes on! Thanks so much for giving it a chance.**

 **(Guests will be numbered. I trust you'll know who you are. I'd appreciate you signing in beforehand so I can know who I'm thanking, but just you taking the time to review at all is appreciated.)**

 **Guest 1: I like to see you so curious. Hope you stay tuned as it goes on!**

 **Guest 2: Oh shit, indeed.**

 **JaneValentine007 : I love that song. That and "Hurt" by Johnny Cash sum up my feelings for the deaths of both protagonists pretty well. Also yeah, this might get pretty sad on some parts, if I do it right. So, brace for shock on that one, I suppose. There'll also be plenty of levity and heart to balance it out though, so I hope that makes up for it. Thanks for reading!**

 **Guest 3: Hey, I appreciate that. Dialogue is a big thing for me. I read some other books and fanfictions where the people talking sound really mechanical and awkward. Even some film writing suffers from this. I try my best to write using good Grammar and syntax, until it doesn't suit the story. People both speak and think in flashes of thought, snippets of sentences. I do my best to capture that in the writing, leaving in the pauses and hiccups where I think they'd be in real life, you know? People ain't perfect.**

 **shaojoey : Yeah, like I said, some of these early chapters are going to be semi-familiar. At least until the story starts going its own way. And as I said in one of the previous replies, there will be feels. But also laughs, and awws, and everything in between.**

 **Guest 4: I'm glad you like it. I will absolutely keep this going, but just not at the pace I really want to. I'll try to get better on updating, promise. Thanks for reading.**

 **Grompit: Thanks! Definitely gonna continue. Thanks for reading so far!**

 **Guest 5: Here you go! Happy belated Chistmahannuhquanzikuh.**

 **Shahaan: Thanks! Hopefully the thought of losing him isn't enough to deter you from continuing. I appreciate you reading so far, though!**

 **Guest 6: More chapter, you're welcome.**

 **Guest 7: I totally agree. There's always so much beneath the surface layer of dialogue that we get in-game. And not just with the Marstons, either. Arthur's relationships with everyone across the board are interesting to me. He's such a dynamic character, better than John even, to me. (Don't kill me.) I'm looking forward to exploring some more of his interactions with everyone, and I hope this chapter helped you get some of your Arthur and Abigail fix. They're fun to write together.**

 **Indiana Smith: Dad Arthur is the best, I agree. Well actually, dad/ family moments in general are what sustain me. Pretty sure both main fishing trips in the game and the house building montage added four or five years onto my lifespan.**

 **SKIP HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ REPLIES**

 **And that's all of them. Thanks so much for the feedback so far, guys. And I hope to get better on the frequency of updates for both stories I have up right now. I could also use a beta, if anyone's interested in diving into the disorganized mess that is my brain and trying to sift through the early stage first drafts for chapters.**

 **Anyway, until next time guys, stay amazing.**

 **Cheers,**

 **Specter**


	3. A Simple Job

**A/N: As sure as I am that you'd all love to hear my list of excuses as to the updating delay, I think I'll just save most of that for below.**

 **Still in the same chapter of the game, but there were some conversations that I wanted to make happen, and this point in the story seemed to jump out to me as the best place for them to happen. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 3

 _"If you can help it, never hit the same mark twice. 'Specially if it's someone who can afford to hold a grudge. The last thing you want is to go dying to some… Damn fool bounty hunter because you were either too greedy- or too stupid to move on."_

 _I still remember Hosea teaching me that particular lesson early in my conning days. Must've been… Shit, fifteen… sixteen years ago, now? He drilled that bit of wisdom into me early on, and it's served me pretty well over the years._

 _Leviticus Cornwall can definitely afford to hold a grudge._

 _Hell, from what we've seen, the man can afford a damn army to hunt us down. Those ain't the kind of odds that I'd call 'favorable'._

 _And yet, we've dug our hands into his pockets three- maybe four times now. I'm honestly not even sure anymore._

 _You can only grab a snake's tail so many times before it turns around and bites you. And Cornwall's gotta have a hankering to sink his fangs in good and deep by now._

 _But what is Dutch doing about it? Same thing as always. Putting on a good show and telling us all that it's gonna be fine. That there's nothing to worry about._

 _I still can't believe that we didn't move camp after that run-in with the Pinkertons by the river. I mean… If I didn't know any better, I'd be convinced that Dutch has finally gone out of his damn mind. We're still keeping everyone at Horseshoe Overlook, even though Hosea and I have both told Dutch that it's long past time to move._

 _I don't know, maybe there's something I ain't seeing. Dutch hasn't let us down before, and I doubt that he's setting up to now. Maybe he's right. Maybe I just need to have a little faith._

Arthur shut his journal, leaning back against the side of the stables. He'd been in Valentine for most of that morning, waiting for John to stop by and reveal what he'd been setting up for the past few days.

It would just be the two of them on this job, which Arthur didn't really have a problem with. That either meant that they weren't expecting much in the way of trouble, or- if they were- that it would be manageable enough with two guns.

He could use something a little slower-paced this time around. He'd just about had his fill of excitement after helping both Uncle and Micah with coach robberies shortly after the train job with John. All of those had wound up involving much more gunfire than they'd originally bet on.

He could do for something simple. Marston could usually be counted on for simple.

"There you are!" A gravelly voice called out, grabbing his attention.

Speak of the devil.

Marston had always been easy enough to spot; what with his shoulder-length, greasy looking black hair and an air of confidence that Arthur guessed only came with a certain level of stupidity.

But now, he was almost _too_ easy to pick out of the crowd. The jagged scars that marred the right half of his face- souvenirs of his experience getting a little too friendly with the local wildlife- marked him distinctly apart from his peers.

Most folks in this town hadn't dealt with anything scarier than high prices for whiskey, or that big lummox in the saloon.

Marston- if nothing else- was a survivor. Even Arthur had to begrudgingly respect the man's dimwitted death-grip on life. He managed to get himself in all kinds of less-than-desirable situations, and yet he somehow managed to come out on top every single time.

"Was startin' to think you'd decided not to show up to your own job." Arthur said, standing.

"And let you take all the credit?" John asked. "Hell no." He began to walk into the town, gesturing for Arthur to follow.

"Kinda unlikely, don't you think? 'Specially seeing as you still ain't even told me what it is we're doin'."

John looked back at Arthur and smirked, seeming rather pleased with himself. "You'll see. C'mon, time's wastin'." He said, picking up the pace.

Arthur grunted, following behind the younger man bitterly. "You know," He began, "That attempt to make you seem all 'enigmatic' and 'interesting'... It may work for Dutch, but you? It just makes you look stupid."

John scoffed. "What if I told you I just ain't too keen on discussing the finer points of larceny out in the open?"

"Well if that were the case, I might say that it sounds like you're dangerously close to growing a workin' brain."

"Only close?" John asked.

"Yeah, 'only close'." Arthur confirmed. "If it were workin' completely, you might get it in your head that it's usually a good idea for everyone _in_ on a plan to at least know _what_ that plan might be."

"I'm sure you'll manage." John said, coming to a stop and leaning against the wall of a building.

Arthur craned his neck upward, squinting against the sunlight to read the sign on the store. He'd been too busy being annoyed to pay attention to which store they'd gone to.

"The gunsmith?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"Yeah, the gunsmith." John answered, pulling a small bundle of bills from his pocket. "Go in there and buy yourself a new rifle. On me." He instructed, handing Arthur the money.

"What the hell's wrong with my Lancaster?" Arthur asked, shrugging the shoulder that held the strap of his repeater to indicate the weapon.

"You're gonna need something with a scope. A big one."

"And why can't you just walk in there and buy it yourself?" Arthur questioned.

"The shopkeep and I ain't exactly on the best of terms." Was John's nebulous reply.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? What did you do?"

"I'd rather not say, if it's all the same to you."

Arthur let an irritated huff of air escape his nose. "You know what, Marston? You can keep your damn secrets for now. Be as _mysterious_ as you like." He reached for the door handle, giving it about half a turn before turning back to John. "But if we ride out of town, and you still wanna keep up the coy bullshit? I'll turn right around and hit the breeze. You got that?"

"Got it." John agreed, though the amused smile stayed.

Arthur only shook his head, muttering to himself, "Just what the hell have I gotten myself into?"

-RDR-

"You see anyone yet?" John called from his place about twenty paces back.

Arthur gave the field below another quick sweep with his binoculars. Still no movement.

"Nah, nothin' yet. Doubt they'd be able to pass us by in the time it takes you to take a piss, anyway."

Arthur heard a rustling of clothing as John likely readjusted his trousers after finishing up. Light footsteps followed right after as the younger man returned to his spot beside him.

"Yeah, you're probably right." John agreed, kneeling. They'd been there for roughly an hour by that point, and there was little indication for how much longer they'd be waiting.

This was usually the most stressful part of any job, but something about this one in particular seemed just mundane enough to calm Arthur's nerves. They'd taken a knee on the cliff side, watching the valley below.

John apparently didn't share Arthur's sentiment on that matter, visibly shifting his weight from one leg to the other. The rocking motion had the effect of continually drawing Arthur's attention, making him have to force himself to focus.

Arthur tried to let the younger man be, but eventually it started to grate on his nerves. "Can you quit movin' around so much? You're making _me_ nervous."

"Sorry. Just a little jittery, I guess."

Arthur grunted. "Maybe we should've had Uncle stand in for you. Least we know he can stay still for two damn seconds."

"Hard to keep watch for cattle with your eyes closed." John pointed out.

Arthur actually barked a laugh at that. "True enough."

"I'm sure Uncle would be happy to know you're thinking highly of him, though." John said.

Arthur scoffed. "As one might think highly of a skin parasite."

"That's harsh." John commented. "'Specially when you're talkin' about a man you have so much in common with." He said, laughing at his own joke.

Arthur only grimaced. "You know, you're the _second_ person to compare me to that old bastard- and I didn't appreciate the first time, neither. Difference being I can shoot _you_."

John raised his hands, chuckling. "Easy there, partner. Just a little joke. Jack told me about it."

"'Course he did." Arthur muttered, before realizing something. "I'm surprised Abigail even let you anywhere near him."

"Yeah." John exhaled slowly. "Me too."

The conversation died for a bit after that, and the two lapsed into a silence that edged toward uncomfortable.

"I still can't believe it." Arthur said after a minute or two.

"What's that?" John asked.

"That you was being all secretive over this. Cattle rustling. _This_ is your God damn magnum opus?"

"Hey I ain't ever done it before. It _should_ be easy, but- hell, you never really know with our luck. That, and didn't wanna talk about it in the town we was planning on sellin' 'em back to. Never know who could be listening." John explained.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Arthur conceded. "Still doesn't make you bein' tight-lipped about it any less annoying."

"It ain't so fun when someone else keeps secrets, huh?" John asked.

Arthur had to let that question roll around in his head once or twice. No matter how he spun it though, it sounded dangerously like an accusation from the younger man. He turned his head to John, arching an eyebrow. "Just what the hell are you talkin' about now, Marston? I ain't keeping any secrets."

"What're you always scribbling in that journal of yours, then?" John asked.

"My thoughts." Arthur replied. "I know that's a tough concept for you to wrap your head around." It was a jibe directed at John's intelligence, but there was little humor in it. "And anyway, that's different. That don't _involve_ you in any way. You're the one playing games where other people are concerned."

"So _I'm_ the one playing games now?" John stood to his full height, turning to Arthur. "I ain't the one taking Jack on fishing trips!"

Ah. So _that's_ what this was about.

"Yeah, you're right. You ain't." Arthur agreed, standing up as well. On his feet he loomed over John, tall and broad. "And what does it matter, anyway? Thought you didn't want anythin' to do with the kid."

John paused at that, his gaze dropping away from Arthur's. His features seemed to tighten for the briefest moment, as though he wanted to be angry, but he wasn't sure where to direct it. Arthur knew the feeling.

In the end John's expression softened to something a little more somber, and his gaze landed on the valley below. He didn't really seem to be looking at anything in particular.

Just lost in his own head.

"I don't know." He said at last, unhelpfully. "You know what? Just forget it. I shouldn't have brought it up on a job." He turned away, looking like he was ready to dismiss the conversation.

Arthur didn't feel quite the same. His temper flared, and he roughly grabbed one of John's shoulders to turn him back. "I don't get you, Marston. You ran away from the only folks who ever did right by you. Then you come back and expect… What, exactly?"

"I don't know." John said again.

"And now you wanna be mad at me?" Arthur asked, voice growing louder. "'Cause I took the boy fishing? Would it've been better if I took him while you was gone? When you left him and Abigail both... while _you_ ran off and did God knows what?"

"I don't know!" John shouted. The anger was back now, flaring up dangerously in his eyes. "And why are _you_ so interested in _my_ life anyway?"

"It ain't just _your_ life, Marston. You seem to forget that."

John's mouth snapped shut, lips pressing into a thin line.

It occurred to Arthur that he really didn't have any place being as pissed as he was. After all, husbands left all the time. Fathers, too. It was just the way things went, sometimes.

He reasoned it was because this time, he'd had to see it first hand. He'd been there while Abigail had struggled to raise a kid on her own. He'd seen the way she'd looked when she thought nobody was watching- the hope she'd had that John would come back, and the disappointment when he didn't.

And the worst part about it all? There hadn't been a damn thing that Arthur could do about it.

Sure, he helped. They all did. Everyone in the gang chipped in to make sure the kid had _some_ kind of childhood. Dutch, and- surprisingly- Arthur taught him how to read. Javier, Lenny, and Sean seemed to be the "fun" uncles, since Jack was either singing or laughing when they were around. Hosea and Charles never had any shortage of stories. Pearson kept him fed. And if he didn't get enough mothering from Abigail, then he sure as hell did from the rest of the women in camp- swarming upon the poor boy to dote on him like he was their own.

He was provided for, with or without his father in the picture. But even still, it was obvious that Abigail had wished that things could've been different.

Maybe it wasn't Arthur's place to say anything. But dammit… someone had to. Everyone else had seemed just fine with John's disappearance and return. Hell, Dutch had welcomed him back as the prodigal son, coming back from some righteous journey.

Even forgetting about family- blatantly ignoring the fact that he'd left Abigail and Jack behind… They were still supposed to look out for each other. They were supposed to live by a code.

Marston had thrown that all away- and no one seemed to care. _Someone_ had to set him straight.

The younger man seemed to be taking it about as well as expected, a plethora of emotions crossing his face before he settled back on indignant anger. "You act like you ain't done the same thing. This is just like you and that one girl…"

"Don't you even dare try to compare us, Marston." Arthur warned.

"Mary." John said.

Arthur scowled. "That ain't the same."

"Sure it is. The _exact_ same."

"No it ain't."

"Yes-"

"She left, not me!" Arthur shouted with enough force to surprise them both. A stunned silence settled between them, hanging heavily.

They both glanced down at the same time, simultaneously taking notice of the front of John's shirt balled up in Arthur's fist. Arthur hadn't even realized he'd done it until just then, and he slowly released his grip once he did.

He let the material slide from his fingers, and then turned away. He took a few steps before he stopped himself, taking a deep, frustrated breath.

Arthur didn't like dredging up old memories. He preferred to leave his past where it was… and let it fade over time. Lately though, it seemed like his past was all too eager to catch up with him.

It hadn't even been two days before that he'd agreed to help Mrs. Mary Linton find her poor lost brother- who'd run off with some nut job religious group.

The woman he'd loved so dearly all those years ago, asking for his help as though nothing had changed. The very same woman who'd walked out of his life, leaving a broken man behind.

And now here was John, throwing it in his face once again.

He gradually calmed his breathing, gathering himself. He returned to the cliff edge, refusing to look at John in that moment. The silence was back, much more tense than before.

"Look…" John said, softly. "I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up." Arthur cut him off.

John was taken aback. "Are you bein' serious right now? I was just trying to apolo-"

Arthur held up a hand, waving for John to keep it down. "I said shut it, Marston. Hang on a second." He began to fumble around in the satchel he always kept at his side, fishing his binoculars out of the bag.

It finally occurred to John just what was happening. "You see 'em?"

Arthur brought the binoculars up to his face, looking out at some point in the distance. After a moment, he smirked, handing the binoculars to John. "Yeah, I think so. Take a look."

John took them as Arthur began to search for the Springfield.

"Where the hell did we leave the- ah. Never mind."

John was too busy sighting down the target to pay attention. Far afield, a flock of sheep was being escorted by two- no, three- riders. It was hard to tell over the distance, but John felt fairly safe assuming that they were little more than ranch hands.

Easy pickings.

He lowered the binoculars and looked over at his compatriot when he heard the sound of the rifle being loaded.

Much could be said about Arthur Morgan, good and bad. But no one had ever claimed that he couldn't pull it together when a job needed doing.

He loaded the rifle with a practiced hand, locking the bolt back into place. He then eased himself into a prone position, sighting down the targets.

"Your show, Marston. How you figure we should play this?"

John looked through the binoculars again. They were riding in a loose formation, guiding rather than protecting. It didn't even look like any of them were keeping an eye on the surrounding hills.

These bastards were practically asking to get robbed.

"They ain't exactly the army cavalry, are they? A shot close by should spook 'em." John answered.

"Who's to say they won't come back for their damn sheep?"

"They'll be too busy running for their lives. Now shoot."

Arthur sighed. "Alright, then."

John felt himself jump involuntarily when the report of the rifle filled his ears. The loud crack of the weapon echoed down the side of the cliff, rolling across the valley.

John saw a clump of dirt kick up just a short distance ahead of the lead rider. The man's horse reared, nearly spilling him from the saddle. When he finally brought the animal under control, both he and his two fellows began frantically scanning the surrounding terrain.

They still hadn't figured out where the shot had come from before Arthur had loaded and fired a second round. Two of the men immediately took for the hills at that, spurring their horses into nearly as much of a frenzy as they were clearly in.

The third man remained.

"This dumb bastard ain't getting the message." Arthur commented, loading a third round. "Alright… I tried playing nice."

It took John a moment to process what he'd said. And by then, Arthur was already firing.

Grip on the binoculars tightening, John kept his eyes locked on the last man. He was sure that he'd just condemned a farmhand to death by allowing Arthur to be the shooter.

Then the man's hat flew off, and John couldn't contain his confusion. "What the hell?" He asked.

The man apparently shared John's disbelief, reaching up to his own head to feel for a hat that wasn't there. Then he was off, riding away even faster than his friends had managed.

John looked at Arthur, who was returning to his feet with a smug look plastered to his face.

"Now you're just being a damn show off." John complained.

"Have to remind you who the better shot is every now and again." Arthur explained. "Wouldn't want you to go forgettin' it anytime soon."

"Well you're a better at shooting than you are with fishing, at least." John pointed out. "We heading down there to claim our prize, or are you gonna stay up here and be pleased with yourself a while longer?"

"Tempting." Arthur said, walking over to the tree where he'd hitched his horse. He hauled himself up onto Cinnamon's saddle, hooking his boots through the stirrups. "But we're about to wrangle us some sheep. We ought to have _someone_ who knows what the hell he's doin'."

"How do you know I don't?" John challenged, mounting his own horse.

"Please, Marston. I'm familiar with your skill set… and you ain't no cowboy."

"I almost want to take that as a compliment. Most Cowboys I know are dumb as trees anyway."

"Well in that case, it don't surprise me that you know a few, then. Y'all must get along pretty well, having so much in common."

-RDR-

"Would you quit scowling so much?" John asked. "Your face is gonna get stuck that way, and you'll wind up lookin' like Bill."

That was almost enough to make Arthur laugh. Almost.

Instead, he shook his head frustratedly, letting out an angry grunt. "Nineteen percent." He grumbled. " _Nineteen_ goddamn percent. And you let him have it!"

It wasn't really John that he was annoyed with. No, this time it was the man they'd traded with for the sheep that held that honor. Arthur had just been fuming the entire ride to the saloon, and John was conveniently placed to receive his ire.

"What else was I supposed to do? Let him call the law down on us?" He turned to look at Arthur from his saddle.

"Should've just given me five minutes with the slimy little bastard. He woulda been good and scared, then." Arthur growled.

"Hey." John said, sounding serious now. "You said it up on that ridge. This job is _my_ show. You don't like it, you can go ahead and hit the breeze right now. If you wanna go beat the hell out of folks, I'm sure Strauss has a few more jobs for you."

The horses seemed to waver slightly in their trot, feeling the irritation of their riders.

Arthur took a deep breath of the dusty afternoon air, inhaling the putrid scent of livestock that permeated the air of Valentine.

"You're right." He relented. "You probably handled that about as well as we could hope for." He pulled on the reigns lightly, guiding Cinnamon back on track. "Hell, I'm actually almost impressed."

"Well that's a relief, since I'm sure you already know everything I do is for your approval." John replied, sarcasm in his voice and a sly grin on his face. "Maybe now you'll actually believe me when I say I can handle myself."

"Not sure I'd go _that_ far, partner. After all, you would've been lost without me for most of this particular job." Arthur pointed out.

"How do you figure?"

"Well your shootin' needs work, for one." Arthur said as they drew up to the saloon, approaching the hitching posts.

John climbed off of his horse, drawing the reigns forward to tie to the post. "Please, I could out-shoot _you_ any day of the week, Morgan."

Arthur dismounted as well, giving Cinnamon a firm pat on the flank as he did so. "Well you sure as hell can't herd. Can't swim, neither."

"How does swimming figure into it?" John asked.

"It doesn't." Arthur admitted. "I just like bringin' it up every now and again."

"When are you gonna let that go?"

"Soon as it stops bein' funny." Arthur answered. They'd both hitched up their horses by then, and were approaching the doors of the saloon with a lazy gait.

"You do know that we ain't kids anymore, right?" John asked, approaching the door.

Arthur was following close behind, shaking his head sadly. "I don't think we ever was."

John didn't reply to that, either not having anything to say, or deciding to cut off the conversation now that there were more ears around them.

Of the two saloons in town, this was by far the less reputable. On top of that, this happened to be the saloon where Arthur _hadn't_ gotten involved in a massive brawl. Both factors contributed nicely to the low profile they were trying to maintain.

"Boys!" Came a familiar, inviting voice. Seated at a small table with Herr Strauss was none other than Dutch Van Der Linde himself.

He wore his usual well-kempt ensemble, lending him the appearance of a banker or professor from the east, rather than a gang leader. On top of his clothing, he also wore a wide smile that tugged the edges of his trimmed goatee upwards, no doubt from finally getting some agreeable company.

"Come on, sit down for a spell." He called. "Have a drink, on me."

"Much obliged," John said, grabbing a glass and filling it.

Arthur took the proffered seat before worrying about the drink. He leaned back, allowing himself the luxury of relaxing. Mostly, anyway. He never let his guard drop completely if he could help it.

John sat in a chair beside him, taking a pull from his glass.

"I take it everything went well?" Dutch asked, smile never faltering.

"About as well as can be expected." Arthur replied.

"Had to… Make some arrangements when we did the trade." John explained vaguely. "Getting a little less of a return than we'd hoped for. But other than that, all's well for now."

"So I guess our 'business partners' actually _do_ have more brains between them than the cattle they're buying." Dutch said. If he was disappointed, he didn't show it. He still had the same unwavering optimism he usually displayed in the camp.

He turned to the Austrian man sitting beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Herr Strauss, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you mind making sure there are no further... hiccups with the transaction?"

Strauss, caught a little of guard, set down his beer. "Oh! Eh- of course. I'd be more than happy to help." He pulled back his chair, moving to stand.

"Thank you." Dutch said, nodding. He turned to Marston. "John? I know you just came back in, but would you mind escorting our dear friend across town? It'd probably be good for him to have some company."

"Sure." John replied wearily. He downed the rest of the glass, standing with a sigh. "Come on, Strauss. Let's get this done."

"I'll be right with you." He turned to Arthur. "Herr Morgan?"

"Herr Strauss." Arthur replied flatly.

"Would you mind terribly if I used your mare to get across town? Just to keep up appearances, you understand. We are supposed to be simple livestock farmers, after all."

Arthur waved him off. "You do whatever you feel you need to do, Herr Strauss. Just bring her back in one piece, alright?"

"Of course." Strauss said with a quick nod, making for the door.

"Just be careful." Arthur warned before he could walk away. "She bites."

"Funny, Herr Morgan." Strauss said, unamused. "We'll see you gentlemen later."

Arthur and Dutch watched the two men leave through the front entrance, continuing to observe them from one of the saloon's windows. Strauss seemed to already be speaking animatedly to John, and John appeared to already regret agreeing to accompany the older man.

They walked along, looking like quite the odd pair. John, the grizzled outlaw, climbed up into his own saddle with little trouble. Strauss, the well-groomed gentleman, approached Arthur's horse with what appeared to be a good deal of caution.

Despite his dismissive attitude toward the 'biting' comment, both men seated in the saloon couldn't help but notice the wide berth Strauss gave the animal's mouth.

Arthur couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up at the Austrian's expense. And- it seemed- neither could Dutch. They guffawed openly, seeming to all the other patrons as though they'd already had a few too many drinks.

Dutch regained his composure first, wiping at his watering eyes. "I swear, you get some kind of sick pleasure out of torturing that man."

"So do you, looks like." Arthur countered. "And anyway, he stays safe and sound in camp most of the time. Somebody needs to ruffle his feathers every once in a while- keep him on his toes, you know?"

"True enough." Dutch agreed. "I admit, it was a _little_ satisfying to see our dear friend look so disgruntled… If only for a moment."

"I take it that means you had a pleasant morning with him, then."

"Oh, lord." Dutch said, reaching for the bottle of whiskey that still sat on the table. " _Please_ do not make me recount the hours I had to spend with that man." He uncorked the bottle, pouring himself another glass. "Nothing like a conversation with Herr Strauss to make you want to blow your own brains out. I should've just left him where I found him; Skinny little Austrian man, fresh off the boat, eyes out on stalks."

After he finished filling his own, Dutch held the whiskey bottle over an empty glass, looking up towards Arthur.

"Sure," Arthur said, accepting the offer.

Dutch went about filling the second glass, speaking up again as he did.

"Your morning was at least a little more enjoyable, I hope?"

Arthur pulled the glass to himself, taking a swig. "I think that getting mauled by a bear would be 'more enjoyable' than your last few hours. But yeah, we got the job done."

Dutch grinned. "And to think that it was you and John Marston that made such a good team." He commented.

"He's more useful than he was on his ass after that business with the wolves, I'll give him that much."

"Oh, come on now, Arthur. No need to be so cold about it. We saw the two of you riding in, laughing and joking."

"What's that matter?" Arthur asked, looking up. He was greeted by another wide Van Der Linde smile. "What?"

"Nothin'." Dutch said innocently, shaking his head.

"You're smilin'" Arthur pointed out.

"And I'm not allowed to smile?"

"Not like that, you're not. You always got _somethin'_ to say when you look like that." Arthur explained, raising his glass for another swig. "Out with it."

Dutch chuckled. "Alright, fine." He relented, gesturing to Arthur with his own glass. "I'm proud of you." He said, giving Arthur a nod of approval. "There it is."

"For rustlin' sheep?"

"No, not the sheep." Dutch explained. "I meant for putting aside that whole... _business_ between you and John. For a few hours, at least." A smile that somehow seemed a little more genuine accompanied his words.

Arthur felt that Dutch would be singing a different tune if he'd seen the little chat they'd had on the cliff, but said nothing to correct the man. He didn't actually get to say much of anything before Dutch was talking again.

"I never had any sons of my own. You know that." Dutch said softly. He paused for a moment, thinking about what it was he wanted to say before going on. "You and John, though? I had the chance to know what it's like, with the both of you."

Arthur's gaze was fixed to the table at that point, unable to look Dutch in the eye. He felt… He wasn't sure. Guilt, maybe.

"When John left us, it hurt me Arthur." Dutch said. "It did. But it was his decision, and I respected it. One of my boys made the choice to go forge his own path in this great wide world." His voice gradually raised as he spoke, and by the end he was speaking grandly, as though delivering a monolog to an audience.

"But like I said," He spoke more softly now. "It hurt to see him go. Dumb as he may be at times, John _is_ my son- same as you. Which is why the pain of him leaving was _nothing_ compared to seeing the rift between you boys when he finally came back."

Dutch leaned in toward the table, lowering his voice further. "I'm an old gambler, Arthur. Sooner or later, my luck's gonna run dry. And when that happens, well…" He let the sentence hang, pushing his half-finished glass back and forth on the table.

Even in the crowded saloon, in that moment the only sound that reached Arthur's ears came from that cup. Glass scraping against wood, slowly and steadily.

"If anything happens to me…" Dutch's voice cracked a little. "I want you to know that you and John are my best hope for keeping this family together. Do you understand?"

Arthur didn't reply right away.

He could barely remember his life before Dutch. He'd stuck by the older man for around twenty years now, and that moment just then had done a pretty good job of summing up why.

Dutch didn't see them as a gang. They weren't just extra guns to be used and discarded, like Colm O'Driscoll did to his men.

At the end of the day, they were a family. Dutch cared about each and every man by his side. He cared about the women and children back in camp. He was their leader, yes. But he was also a teacher and mentor to every single one of them.

And now here he was, saying that if the day ever came that he couldn't carry on that legacy, he entrusted it to his two boys.

Arthur nodded, slowly. "Yeah." He said. "I understand."

"Well that's good to hear." Dutch replied. "You two are brothers. You ought to be looking out for each other, not snapping at each other's throats."

Dutch's eyes traced around the table for a moment before landing on the bottle of whiskey. Arthur could see the spark of an idea cross his eyes as he reached for both of their glasses.

"You know what?" He asked. "Let's have us a toast."

It was only now that Arthur noticed the slight slur in Dutch's speech, and the glazed look in his eye. He wasn't drunk just yet, but he was definitely getting there, the way he was going.

"I think you might've had enough, Dutch." Arthur cautioned.

The older man waved him off dismissively. "I admit that I had to indulge a little more than usual to tolerate my earlier company, but don't you worry about me. I know my limits by now, son."

He got to pouring the drinks, starting with Arthur's, and there was only a little left in the bottle when he'd finished pouring his own right after. He pushed Arthur's glass back to him, then reached for his.

"To your good health." Dutch said, raising his glass.

"And John's too, I guess." Arthur added, raising his as well.

If possible, Dutch's smile grew even wider at those words. They clinked their cups together, downing the contents in a single go.

Arthur caught a quick wince from Dutch as he set the glass back down. He grinned. "You sure you know your limits, old man?"

"Ah, shut it." Dutch said, withholding a chuckle. "You know, maybe I should send _you_ with Strauss next time, if this is the kind of treatment I can expect. I'd call that about fair."

Arthur grimaced. "I'd call that 'cruel and unusual'."

They both found that pretty funny, laughing until they red in the face and sore in the sides.

It seemed that Dutch's talent for making people feel that everything was going to be okay remained intact. Arthur actually had a brief moment that he forgot about all of the problems rushing to catch up with them. It was just him and Dutch- just like old times.

Then it all came crashing back in with a single shouted demand.

"Dutch Van Der Linde!" The voice called from just outside the saloon. "Come out!"

Their laughter had stopped abruptly at the first sound of Dutch's name being called. Arthur was the first to react, getting up from his seat and edging his way along the wall until he got to the nearest window.

He removed his hat, not wanting the brim to give him away as he peeked through the glass. After that, all he could really hope for was that the glare from the afternoon sun would make it too difficult for whoever was outside to line up a shot through the window. That, or hope that they didn't intend on shooting on sight to begin with, seeing as they hadn't barged in guns blazing to start with.

A lot was riding on luck and suppositions. Not too far off from usual, actually.

Arthur had to force himself to keep a clear head when he saw what was waiting for them outside.

Lining the street just outside the saloon were men armed to the teeth. Some were on horseback, and others had taken up positions either on the street level or the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. All barrels were aimed at the building, cutting off any hopes of sneaking out unnoticed.

One man rode at the head of the crowd, fat and angry. He had a thick beard, perhaps to make up for the fact that the hair on top of his head seemed to be on its way out. His clothes and his bearing gave him away as much higher class than any of the other men currently in his company. Arthur had an idea as to who he was before he gave his introduction.

"You don't know me…" The man called out, shouting to be heard by the occupants of the Saloon. "But you keep robbing me!"

Arthur looked away from the man for a moment, scanning the crowd. It was only then that he noticed that two of the leading men weren't wielding their guns, but were instead holding knives to the necks of two very familiar individuals.

John and Leopold had been captured.

"My name is Leviticus Cornwall. I am _not_ the kind of man you want to trifle with." He warned, still seething. "Come out, or watch your friends here bleed all over the road when we open their damn throats."

Arthur could see Strauss blanch at the words, while Marston struggled against his captor. At least _one_ of them was holding it together.

"How do you figure we should handle this?" Dutch asked. No doubt the gears in his head were already turning, formulating any number of escape plans. But in the end, it was Arthur who was usually relied upon for the by-the-moment improvisation.

"Well…" Arthur said, turning to the older man. "You start spinnin' a yarn… And when I see an opening… I'll take it." It wasn't much, and it was clear that Dutch was still more than sober enough to see that. For a moment, he seemed ready to disagree. But then his eyes met Arthur's, and the younger man saw something that few could ever claim to receive from Dutch Van Der Linde.

Trust.

Dutch nodded sharply. "Why not?" He said, reaching for the bottle on the table and downing the rest of its contents.

Arthur noticed that Cornwall seemed to have lost his patience over the lack of response, handing control of the situation to one of his subordinates. "Deal with this." He ordered, taking a small detachment with him as an escort.

There would be no better time to act than now, Arthur decided. He put his hat back on before looking over at Dutch, who was setting the bottle down and wiping stray droplets of whiskey off of his mouth with his sleeve. He gave the older man a nod, and together they made their way to the door, slowly and steadily.

This was the same pace they maintained as they walked out into the open, hands raised slightly above their heads.

Dutch began to speak, cautiously. "Gentlemen, I believe that what we have here- is a case of mistaken identity."

Arthur stopped paying attention after that, counting off the number of guns against him while Dutch rambled on. He imagined that he'd have to start with the men holding John and Leopold, to keep them from getting killed in the confusion. Then he'd have to do his best to gauge who would actually keep a level enough head to pose a threat once the bullets started to fly.

He was still in the process of doing this, when he met John's gaze. The other man seemed to have an idea as to what he was thinking, and gave Arthur a quick nod.

He began switching targets in his mind's eye, imagining shooting John's captor first, then Leopold's. He'd have to be quick to follow up with more covering fire, or this would end badly for every single one of them. Once he was comfortable enough with his mental preparation, he returned John's subtle nod.

It was time.

In a flash, his right hand went from being held aloft above his head to reaching for the revolver at his side. Seeing the motion, John gave the man holding him back a sharp elbow to the stomach, causing him to double over and loosen his grip. It wasn't a huge opening, but it was better than what Arthur originally had to work with.

He took full advantage, drawing, leveling, and firing his revolver in one smooth motion. The loud explosion of force from the barrel of his gun announced the start of the firefight, cutting Dutch off in the middle of whatever he was saying. The bullet tore right through the skull of the man holding Marston, causing him to go limp and release John entirely.

Arthur switched targets, taking down the man holding Strauss with practiced accuracy. Leopold couldn't stop the yelp of surprise that he released upon seeing a firearm discharged in his direction. The spray of blood that covered the side of his face likely didn't help either.

Arthur couldn't focus on that though, instead directing his attention to unloading as many rounds downrange as possible. He wasn't aiming quite as much now, but rather just yanking the hammer back and pulling the trigger as quickly as he could manage. Shot after shot forced the enemy gunmen to scramble for cover as Dutch and John did the same. Marston had to drag the panicking Austrian along with him, grabbing a gun from a fallen enemy as he got them both to relative safety.

For his part, Arthur didn't bother reloading or looking for cover just yet, knowing he had to keep up the pressure until John and Dutch could get to firing. He stowed his first revolver roughly as he reached for the second, holstered in probably the only good thing Micah had ever given him. He adjusted his grip, disproving one mercenary's notion that it was a good idea to peek out of cover to line up a shot. The man's face caved inwards, the .357 round tunneling through flesh and bone alike. It made its exit on the opposite side in a bright spray of blood and brain.

He was most of the way through the second revolver's ammunition when he finally heard Dutch and John's weapons roar to life. With the comfort of covering fire on his side, he immediately set to reloading both guns as quickly as he could.

"Did your plan cover what to do after you 'took the opening'?" Dutch asked.

"It's a work in progress." Arthur answered, loading the last bullet into the first revolver's cylinder.

"Where are the horses?" Dutch asked John.

"Still on the other side of town!" John had to shout back over the gunfire.

"Of course they are." Dutch muttered. He looked around, searching for anything that would give them an advantage. He apparently found it, grinning as he turned back to Arthur. "You topped up yet?"

"Just about." Arthur replied, loading the last of the rounds into his weapon. "Why, you got an idea already?"

"Of course." Dutch answered. "Don't I always? Now, I need you to give us some cover so we can cross to that cart over there. Then we use it to get ourselves to the horses. You got that?"

Arthur glanced over his cover, seeing the cart that Dutch was talking about situated in front of one of the stores. It looked like it could withstand some fire, but it wouldn't do much if they got themselves surrounded.

"We're going through the middle of town? That's the plan?" Arthur asked.

Dutch grimaced. "Unless you've got something better."

Arthur shook his head. "Not really." He answered, gripping a cattleman in each hand. "Get ready to move."

At Dutch's nod, Arthur popped up out of cover with both side arms spewing smoke and fire. Dutch and John rushed across the open ground between them and the cart, helping along Herr Strauss- who'd apparently taken a bullet to the side at some point during the chaos. Arthur followed along behind, taking down targets of opportunity as they presented themselves. His accuracy took a hit while wielding two guns at once, but the enthusiastic mercenaries on Cornwall's payroll made things easy for him by rushing out of cover, hungry for the kill. Maybe Cornwall had offered a bonus to whoever actually managed to land the kill shot on them. Arthur would have to remember to thank the man for that later.

He hurried to join the others behind the cart, firing wildly as he ran. He doubted he'd hit much of anything, but it did the job of keeping most of the men shooting at him pinned down.

"Agh!" Strauss grunted as John heaved him into the cart. "Careful!"

"Sorry I couldn't manage to be a little gentler." John said sarcastically, firing on a man who rushed around the edge of the cart, likely looking to outflank them. "I guess trying not to get shot really takes away from my bedside manner."

"Quiet down and help me push, John." Dutch ordered. "Arthur, do your best to keep us alive while we work, would you?"

"You got it." Arthur promised, ducking as a round landed uncomfortably close. "Just try to work quickly!"

Dutch and John both grunted with the strain of getting the cart moving while Arthur continued to fire on anyone holding a gun. A few times, a man or woman trying to get indoors would scurry by, and Arthur had to check his fire to avoid shooting innocent bystanders. He still wasn't a good man by any stretch, but he wasn't about to gun someone down in cold blood if he could help it.

His revolvers both ran dry, and he was about to reload when John thrust another one into his hand. "Just use this one, and hand me yours!" The scarred man ordered. Arthur switched guns with John, raising the new one to keep firing. Meanwhile, John hoisted the empty gun into the cart with Strauss, followed by a pouch of ammunition. "Make yourself useful, would you? Keep Arthur shooting, or we ain't getting out of this in one piece."

Leopold whimpered, partially out of pain from his wound, and mostly out of fear. Arthur couldn't help the dry laugh that tore from his throat at the sight of Strauss scrambling to load rounds into the cylinder.

"Just look at the bright side, Strauss!" He shouted over the gunfire. "We've all been shot at one point or another. Think of it as a bonding exercise!"

His revolver went dry, and he looked up at the Austrian to check his progress. The wiry man was just finishing, loading the last round into the weapon and tossing it to Arthur. Arthur tossed the empty one back to him, pulled back the hammer of the new one, and went to work.

"If it's all the same to you, Herr Morgan…" Strauss replied, voice trembling. "I think next time I think I'd be just fine with a drink."

The next few minutes passed much the same way, in a haze of shooting and pushing. The initially endless tide of men that Cornwall had sent their way finally seemed to be subsiding to a more manageable level, and Arthur had an easier time of keeping them at bay as they approached the horses.

When they finally reached their goal, Arthur helped John hoist Strauss up onto his horse. The man was still bleeding, but he seemed like he would pull through okay. Maybe he was made of tougher stock than Arthur had initially given him credit for.

"Throw 'em off your trail before heading back to camp, but don't take too long." Dutch instructed, looking from John to Strauss. "He's gonna need that wound looked at before it starts to fester."

"Got it," John said, taking the reins in his hand. "See you fellers back at camp."

Before they galloped off, Strauss looked at both him and Dutch earnestly. "Thank you for getting me out of there. All of you."

"We look out for our own, Strauss. Always remember that." Dutch replied.

Strauss nodded, and then they were off.

"Guess you're with me." Arthur said to Dutch as he climbed onto the saddle. "Unless you got the Count hidden around here somewhere." He reached down to offer Dutch a hand up.

Dutch took it, hauling himself up behind Arthur. "No, Strauss and I rode one of the wagons into town. I'll send some of the other boys back for it later."

Arthur kicked his boot heels into Cinnamon's flank, urging her to get going. She responded immediately, moving from a standstill to a trot, then to a steady gallop in no time at all. They rode hard for a few minutes, silently hoping pursuit wasn't close behind. Arthur knew how to dodge trackers, so they'd ditched the road shortly after they'd started, crossing a river before they'd finally slowed down.

They dismounted, Cinnamon panting audibly. Arthur slowly stroked his hand along her mane, letting her calm down for a bit before offering her a snack.

He took in their surroundings while she munched away. There was little around them to indicate where they were, which Arthur found comforting. They were surrounded by trees, thickly condensed around them in such a way that they barely let the beams of afternoon sunlight filter through the canopy.

The fact that it was only just approaching late afternoon absolutely blew Arthur away. It felt as though days had already passed since he and John had rustled those cattle away from Cornwall. He was more tired than he wanted to admit, leaning a little more heavily on his horse than he realized.

He found Dutch in a similar position, leaning on a nearby tree. He held his hat in one hand while he used the other to rub his eyes. He looked old, right then. Worn out, and tired.

Arthur could sympathize, of course. Coming down from an adrenaline high was never a fun experience, but they had to keep moving. They had to get back to camp and leave before Cornwall tightened the noose on them.

He just needed Dutch to reach that conclusion himself.

"So what now?" He asked.

"What now?" Dutch echoed. "Now, we need to get back to camp. We need to regroup with our people, make sure everyone's alright. They're bound to be a little shaken up when Strauss arrives in his condition."

"We need to _go_ , Dutch." Arthur insisted frustratedly when the older man didn't say it. "We need to pack up camp and _move_ , soon as we get back. It's only a matter of time before Cornwall's men and the Pinkertons are all over this area, and then it'll be too late."

Dutch looked at him, the argument draining from his eyes before he could make it. He sighed, heavily. "You're right. I mean, of course you're right. I should've listened to you and Hosea days ago." He pushed himself off of the tree he was leaning on, stepping off and looking up into the canopy.

A few moments of silence passed, and Arthur was just about to speak when Dutch continued. "I guess I just didn't want to give up. I didn't want to keep running away from our problems. Folks are already losing faith in me… I can only imagine what they'll think when they hear about this."

"No one's losin' faith in you, Dutch." Arthur assured him. "And we're not runnin' away from anything. We're running _towards_ something, remember?"

He approached Dutch, putting a hand on the older man's shoulder. "We still got our dream out west. And we need you to get us there, you hear? So pull yourself together."

He heard Dutch inhale deeply before he stood up a little straighter, placing his hat back on his head. He nodded slowly, looking up at Arthur with a smile. He clapped the younger man on the shoulder, keeping his hand there for a moment. "Well alright then. Soon as we get back to camp, see if you can't recruit Charles to help you find a new spot for us. I'll deliver some… Rousing speech to get folks packing and moving. If all goes well, we'll be on the road before nightfall."

"Alright." Arthur agreed. "Sounds good to me. Let's get goin'." He said, climbing back up onto his horse. He offered Dutch a hand up.

"And Arthur," He said, taking the offered hand. "Thank you. I guess sometimes I need a little reminder to keep me on track."

Arthur smirked. "No problem." He replied, pulling Dutch up.

No further words were exchanged on the way back to camp. They still had a long road ahead, but if there was one thing Arthur was sure of, it was that they'd pull through.

They always did.

* * *

 **Wanted to have some serious chats happen between Arthur and some of the other characters. Mainly John and Dutch, with some Strauss thrown in just for funsies. I also wanted to flesh out Arthur's resentment towards John to have a little more meat to it than just "Well how come everyone's treating him nicer than they would treat me?" I'm sure that wasn't the intention of the game's writing, but it made Arthur come across as petty, more than anything. I'm only just hitting the surface of this subject so far, with more to come down the line. There will be some more butting of heads, more than likely.**

 **Hopefully the gunfight came out okay. Action isn't really the main focus of this fic, but I like throwing it in just because it's fun.**

 **Review replies!**

 **JaneValentine007: Lol, I'm glad you like it. I'm sure your writing is just fine, by the way. In the end, if you put your heart into any project, it comes across in the final product. Just imagine how characters would react in a given situation, and do your best to convey that. You could probably do a much better job than I ever could. Glad this inspired you, though. Thanks for reading!**

 **Guest 1 (Starting over with the numberings. I'm sure you know who you are): You definitely don't have to apologize for signing in as a guest. I didn't mean to imply that guest reviews were unwelcome, or any less valid. Just that pen names already feel impersonal enough without me just assigning a number to someone. You taking the time to review, guest or otherwise, is certainly appreciated! And I'm glad you like the depiction of Arthur in this story. He's a very nuanced character, and I feel like displaying him as the flawless Gary Stu is doing him a disservice. He has flaws. Things he doesn't know, things that piss him off, and things that just make him human in general. Doing my best to let that shine.**

 **Indiana Smith: No direct Abigail interaction in this chapter, but hopefully that doesn't dampen your spirits too much. And yes, protective Arthur is best Arthur, I agree.**

 **StormMarine: Guess you'll just have to wait and see, huh? Thanks for reviewing, though!**

 **Kris: Thank you, I do my best.**

 **Guest 2: And I love you, random citizen. I'm glad you enjoyed, and I'm happy that the character interactions seem to be translating about as well as I hope they do. Also, maybe. There very well could be. Guess you'll just have to keep reading, though.**

 **WintersCaptain: Unfortunately no, I'm a horrible person and would never dream of sparing you entirely from grief. Life is about compromise, sometimes. As a wise man once said: "It really do be like that, sometimes."**

 **Grompit: There's a very weird Goldilocks zone when it comes to dialogue with these guys. Sometimes they say "you was", and sometimes it's "you were". I'm just doing my best to strike a balance between localized vernacular and their obviously impressive (comparatively) education through Dutch. I feel like I'll get more of a hang of it as the story goes on. Thanks for the feedback!**

 **Guest 3: Here's an update. Hopefully it's still really good.**

 **Ozeanna: Kids are just weird in general, but yeah. Movie/game kids are awkward as hell most of the time. Also I've checked, there is no option to refuse. Turns out you can stand in one place and just insult the dude for like 30 mins straight... Nothing will actually happen until you punch him.**

 **Guest 4: Update.**

 **Hopefully you guys enjoyed this chapter. Know that the next one is already in progress, hopefully to be released soon. Thanks for reading/reviewing!**

 **Cheers,**

 **Specter**


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